Page 38 of The Mountain Echoes

A chuckle escapes her. “Wow! You certainly have a high opinion of yourself for someone who sleeps around like you do.”

I don’t like her insinuation. “I’m not indiscriminate, Aria. In fact, I’m very discerning about who I let in my bed.”

She scoffs. “Of course, you are.”

“Someone like you wouldn’t make the cut.”

She snaps back, “Like I’d want to!”

My sister always tells me that when I’m angry, I should shut up because I say hurtful things that I cannot take back.

Well, considering, I don’t like this woman, I don’t think I’ll give two shits about taking anything back.

I park the truck right in front of the ranch house. If I were a gentleman, I’d open the door for her. But I’m not feeling particularly gentlemanly. I’m feeling sore.

“I’m not interested in indulging your penchant for sleeping with your sister’s leftovers. I hear you like to fuck the men she fucks.”

Her mouth opens and hurt flashes in her eyes. I pretend like I don’t know if it’s because of my calculated cruelty or her migraine.

I also don’t give a damn so I continue.

“And in any case, I like my women soft. Classy. The kind who don’t confuse attitude for value. Not angry little girls who wouldn’t know femininity if it slapped them in the face because they’re too busy pretendingthey’re tough when they’re merely unattractively masculine.”

She goes still.

My words pierce through her.

I see it in the way her jaw clenches, in the way her eyes go blank.

“Thanks for the ride, Maverick.” She opens the truck door.

Fuck! She didn’t deserve that. Damn it!

“Aria—”

“You know you’re not the first man to prefer Celine because she’s soft. I don’t take it as an insult, Maverick. I take it as a compliment. Have a good rest of your evenin’.”

She hops off the truck and walks into the house without looking back.

I bang my head against my seat. That was a fucking cruel thing to say, and I had no right to spew that shit her way.

I’m a grown man. Forty fucking years old. I shouldn’t behave like a Goddamn insecure young buck just because she called me a manwhore.

And yet, I think, a little impressed, she didn’t break. She kept her head high. Most women would’ve buckled. Not this one.

Butshe did crack when she told me something I don’t think she meant to—that men have chosen Celine over her. I wonder who did that to her.

Hudson? No, I can’t imagine him wanting a woman who’s as prickly as Aria, and honestly, I can’t imagine her being interested in a milquetoast like Celine’s husband.

I drive home, turning over ways to apologize to Aria—if an apology would even matter to a woman like her. If she even has something as forgiving as ‘good graces’.

But I know this much: it’s a game now.

Cat and mouse.

I always catch what I’m hunting.

CHAPTER 9